Any performance of Messiah involves compromises. At the Royal Albert Hall
it is hard to forget the atmosphere of the traditional mammoth performances
which began in Westminster Abbey in 1784 and continued into the days of (some
of) our youths. New Grove says that 'no great composer has been more
misrepresented by posterity than Handel', this particular oratorio retaining
'the quality of a fetish', and leaving Mozart and 'many smaller men - - free
to tinker with the scoring of this most professionally accomplished of
composers'.

So adjustment is still needed to today's smaller forces. From the far end
of the great oval, across the massed standing promenaders, the effect of
the English Concert, based on 34 strings playing without vibrato and a lusty
choir of only about forty singers, was pleasing in its clarity and liveliness.
This remained the most consistent pleasure of the evening; one quickly became
accustomed to modest dynamics.

Of the soloists, the American tenor Kurt Streit, a much recorded Mozart
specialist due to make a welcome return to Covent Garden, got the proceedings
off to a fine start after the Symphony, bringing real intensity to the words
of comfort and hope, leading to 'and the Glory of the Lord' which introduced
the Choir of the English Concert - a fine beginning sequence. The temperature
dropped with the French singer Monica Groop, who found it hard to communicate
feeling in this huge space, singing dutifully parts designated variously
as for alto & mezzo-soprano, but without seizing attention. The soprano
Hillevi Martinpelto was satisfactory, no more, and bass-baritone Nathan Berg
(admired previously in Handel and Schubert) seemed to be in poor voice.

It was above all Trevor Pinnock's night. The hall was, surprisingly, far
from full, so after the interval it was a pleasure to watch him at close
quarters, batonless, wholly absorbed in the music, mouthing the words and
encouraging his musicians to phrase the familiar melodies con amore by
shaping their responses with sinuous, mobile fingers, occasionally taking
time to play a little at the harpsichord. Here, close by the violins, one
forgot the vastness of the Royal Albert Hall; I suspect the soloists too
were performing for the microphones and television cameras (a now familiar
distraction, with glaring lights an extra intrusion on hot nights).

Kurt Streit's contributions were, again, especially distinguished. Monica
Stroop was not really able to sustain the very long 'He was despised and
rejected', with its da capo, at Pinnock's very slow tempo. The sound
here was very much as to be heard on good equipment at home, far more detail
in the orchestra, and increased admiration for a very classy, presumably
professional, choir which seems to be one of the best around. For the Hallelujah
chorus Pinnock urged everyone to stand (legend has it that this tradition
was perpetuated after the tone-deaf King stood up by mistake, thinking it
was the National Anthem, and everyone followed suit) and the natural trumpets
and baroque timpani (Robert Howes) had their moment of glory. The solo singers
looked faintly embarrassed upstanding and silent - it would have been far
better for them to have been instructed to join in and Pinnock to have encouraged
the audience to sing along with them for this peculiarly British ritual,
by way of rehearsal for the Last Night?